Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

His fingers already hurt from biting the skin away from his nails. He was still gnawing on the newest chunk when the car pulled into a neat driveway. Tommy can't help the anxiety bubbling to the surface, tears pricking at his waterline.

The house was a bit of a mess, the siding yellowed and tinted green from plants while ivy began taking over the left side. The branches reached out and grew in the crevices between the brick, reaching towards the front door and large bay window. A large tree stood tall in the yard, giving the pristinely preened flowers and ferns under it much needed shade. 

It looked all around very welcoming, but Tommy still couldn't stave his pounding heart. He reached automatically for the pill bottle within his bag, only for his fingers to wrap around the missing space. The reminder of his medicine no longer required– regardless of what the doctor said –made Tommy's heart beat against his ribs frantically. 

The kind man from child protective services turned around in the seat to give Tommy a placating grin. It didn't help.

“We're here,” No shit, Tommy thought while fighting the roll of his eyes. “let's head in and get you and your foster placement situated.”

He wanted nothing less but knew this was an order the same as the ones Dad gave; he had no choice.

Fingers found their way back between his teeth as the worker knocked upon the door. He felt a pinch in his nail just as the door flung open, the taste of copper twinging his tongue.

A man stood before them, gruff and menacing. Look up intimidating in the dictionary and you'd get this guy, he was positive. Tommy was practically quaking at the thought of even stepping into this house.

“You must be Tommy. C'mon in, let's get you comfortable.”

He shook the social worker's hand with a forced smile before opening the door wider to allow the pair to enter. The entry way was clean but lived in; a shoe rack full of different sneakers and sandals, a tray with different keys and chains, and a few hooks on the walls for bags and frames. 

Tommy wasn't sure what to do– did his bag go on the wall? What about his shoes, was he allowed to wear them inside or were they strictly forbidden? Already, everything seemed too confusing.

“You can leave your shoes here. I don't really want mud tracked in the house.” 

He jolted at the deep voice, wide blue eyes staring frightened upward. The man curled his lip in a half smile, nodding toward the stack of shoes organized away. Tommy shifted his cane to lean down and pull the laces off his prosthetic foot, doing the same on the other and tossing them both in an empty slot. The man grunted and nodded in approval before leading them both towards the living room.

They all sat around the coffee table, a binder full of papers in the employee's hand and a few items in the man's. “Alright Thomas! This is Tech Nob Layde, your temporary guardian while we figure out what's happening with your dad, okay?”

Tommy hums affirmative, plopping his bag onto the ground and sifting around for his tablet. He pulls out the protected device and boots it up to the notes app. There’s a plethora of notes already filled to the brim with information. He opens up a new note and titles it ‘Tech Nob Layde’.

As the social worker and his new guardian talk, Tommy takes to writing down key information he learns about his new placement. 

He’s a family man who was raised by a single dad– Tech has one biological brother and a foster sister, all close in age. He’s lived on his own for a few years now but only recently decided to become a registered emergency foster, devoting a portion of his large house to kids needing sanctuary. He’s had one other kid but that one was relocated to a more permanent home a few weeks ago.

Tech seemed like a relatively normal man, all things considered. He even worked from home as a Technology Support for a major company, meaning he was always available if Tommy needed help– not that he was going to take it, if he could help it.

“Here’s everything you need to know about his father’s court case and the potential– trauma that Thomas may deal with.” The worker handed Tech a somewhat thin manilla folder, papers carefully shuffled together inside.

The man sets it to the side table next to him with a huff, “Anything else I need to know before we get this kiddo situated in his room?”

“Ah, no, that should be it for the next week or so. We will need Thomas to appear in court in the coming weeks to validate the abuse, but there's a long process of gathering evidence before then.”

He doesn’t like the idea of speaking to people more than he has to, not after the police station and the many hours of gruelling conversation. The thought of opening his mouth even now feels daunting. His lips are sealed with the inability to speak, frozen together from a mental barrier of exhaustion. 

The tablet in his hands is full of little notes Tommy takes to reading a few times over, committing the simple facts to memory as he’s led away from the couch and through a hallway on the first floor. “You’ll be staying in the bedroom down here.” Tech says, leading into an open entry way.

The room looks like a re-designed entertainment space; a bed pressed to the center of the back wall with a tv just across the way, a dresser underneath it that’s bare beyond some knick-nacks and frames. There's nothing in the frames, which is both a little odd and confusing. 

The bed is made up with plain blue sheets and a few pillows. It's huge in comparison to the small twin Tommy had grown up sleeping in, stretching long enough for all of his fingers and toes to stay within the stretched sheet– and that's just at a glance. 

A little basket with necessities sits at the foot of the mattress, filled to the brim. Tommy toddles himself and his backpack over to the bed to inspect it, tossing the sack next to the cute little woven basket. “Is this for me?” He says softly, uncharacteristic but with all the energy he can muster.

Tech looks thoughtful at the question, a small quirk at the corner of his lips as he nods. “Yeah, all your's kid.”

There's a few full sized bottles of soft scented shampoo, conditioner, and even body wash. Gentle skin too, as if his foster parent knew he couldn't handle the harsh stuff. Popping the lid fills his nostrils with the pleasant scent of milk and honey. 

Alongside the soap are some pencils, drawing paper, and even some expensive-looking markers. His fingers skim over them reverently, awed by the array of colors. There's even a small, red pencil case inside for his new art materials.

A few little fidgets and a soft to the touch blanket pad out the rest of the basket nicely, making up what must have been a very expensive and thoughtful gift. “Thank you.” Tommy remembers to say past his choked throat, caught up in the small gesture of kindness.

He gets a grunt in response as Tech moves closer to pull the basket from the bed. “I'll place this on your dresser. Go ahead and get ready for bed, I'm sure you're exhausted.” The man pulls away and does exactly what he says, pausing at the door to leave. “The remote for the tv is on your bedside, you can use any of the subscriptions on there. There's no designated shut-off time so watch to your heart's content. Just try to go to sleep at a reasonable time, please?”

Tommy nods twice, “yeah, I will.”

The door is left just barely open with the hallway light left on as Tech leaves. It's quiet now with only the background noise of the house's creaks to break the silence. Tommy ignores the feeling of unease at being in a new space, turning on the tv to drown out the ringing starting up in his ears from the silence.

He settles on some youtube videos, some lighter videogame-like sounds to hopefully ease the tension in his head. Changing is made difficult mentally by the door still being propped open, though he's not sure if he's even allowed closed doors here– Clay never let him close the doors, let alone lock them, so maybe it's like that here too?

Regardless, he changes quickly and is just as quick to get settled into bed. It's as comfortable as Tommy thought as the mattress borderline eats him whole. He settles on the right side of the bed to be closest to his crutches.

He drifts to sleep fairly quickly as the weight of the day exhausts him to his core. The lights are left on but dim, the tv plays some slow, quiet beat, and a pair of concerned brown eyes peer into the room from beyond the door.

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Turns out living with Tech is fairly easy. There's not a lot of rules, Tommy's schedule is straight forward, and nothing has really stood out as anything to be concerned with– in regards to his placement, that is.

The few days were fine; anxieties were high from both parties as they learned how to live with each other, but that was expected. Tech was as close to a recluse as you could get, often spending his time shut indoors at his computer for work. Occasionally Tommy would find the man fiddling with food in the kitchen or even answering the odd phone call but nothing out of the ordinary.

Tommy spent most of his time learning the house and where he lies in the dynamic. He's used to omnipresent eyes in the form of cameras gazing from every corner and tiptoeing the landmine that was his father, but none of that seemed to happen here.

He'd often find himself searching the room for the beady little red light but nothing would blink at him. Anytime he made much more than a peep, Tommy half expected his foster parent to come barrelling into the room with a shout. Everytime he'd be surprised when he held his breath for nought.

The first morning, Tommy even tried to get breakfast made for them both. It was going to be something small but classic, as he wasn't sure what Tech often ate. The older found him cracking a few eggs to be whisked and promptly joined in, asking what was being made and helping Tommy instead of sitting and waiting for his portion.

It's become their norm too, coming together to make each meal. It's strange and oftentimes overwhelming, but Tommy quickly found himself enjoying it.

All this to say, Tommy was actually really liking being away from his dad and all the responsibilities that came with that. 

That was until it started to show up. 

Something that was cut out of his nightmares started to haunt his day-to-day life too.

It stood tall and menacing with a shadowy body and a strikingly pale face. Its face was devoid of features beyond a crudely drawn smile and two pin-prick black eyes. It would stand in the corner of the room, glaring at him from afar, just to make its way closer and closer until– 

Tommy never got that far, to be honest. Anytime it got within reaching distance, he'd wake with a gasp and covered in a sheen of sweat. He'd lay awake for hours trying to get his breaths under control enough to fall back asleep. 

At first it was only in his dreams, lurking and reaching with large, cold hands toward him. But he's starting to see it in his peripherals as well, melding with the darkness and disappearing as soon as Tommy jolts to look.

It's begun to disrupt him in every aspect. And eventually, even Tech starts to notice it.

The way Tommy jumps when turning corners, the dark eyebags under the kid's eyes, and even the ever-present quiver to his hands. Things that could be brushed aside as anxiety or lingering paranoia about Clay, except it had been getting better before taking a turn for the worst.

It comes to a head one morning while they're making breakfast together. Tech is at the stove flipping their french toast while Tommy soaks the bread in the egg mixture and cuts up the finished slices. It's peaceful, borderline domestic, up until the kid suddenly tenses.

His whole body goes ran-rod straight with wide, terrified eyes. The knife in his hand shakes before falling out from Tommy's fingers and plunging down upon his other hand.

Tommy gasps and yanks his hand away, only further sliding the blade along his fingers. Tears spring to the boy's eyes as blood wells along his sliced hand. “Woah!” Tech yells, quickly reaching out to grab onto his foster kid's wrist only for Tommy to flinch back as if struck. 

Those wide eyes now turn on him, the tears aiding in the festering guilt already brewing in Tech's chest. “Hey, hey…” he starts, using one hand to twist the knob on the stove off while the other is raised placatingly. “It's alright, I won't hurt you. Was just grabbin' you to check the wound, but I shouldn't have and that's my fault.”

Tommy didn't utter a word, eyes still as wide as dinner plates and breath panting something fierce. Tech ushered the kid to the sink, turning it on, and gently reaching for his wrist. Nothing happened as his fingers curled around the still worryingly skin and bone appendage, which he considered a win.

“Alright, we're gonna run this under some cold water to see what's going on. From there, we may have to go to the hospital if you cut your finger badly enough.”

Tommy remained quiet, only a hiss between his teeth as the blood was washed away and into the sink. Upon closer inspection, the wound seemed just barely more than superficial and would do fine with a bandage and a kiss better.

“You did well while I cleaned it, good job.” Tech looked up from the bright blue colored bandage, picked out by Tommy with a point of his– good –finger. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m alright,” Tommy says quietly. “Feels better.”

Eyes search him with startling precision. “And what about mentally?”

He pauses, still refusing to make eye contact with anything but the tiled floor. It still feels like unseeing eyes are pressing against the back of his head and phantom fingers are gripping his skin, but Tommy feels a bit more settled than before. Nothing to write home about but enough of a difference that the shake to his fingers is just that much better.

“Better, but there's uh, something I need to tell you.”

Tech hums, “I'm going to finish up breakfast if you want to sit at the table and find your words.”

The stove turns back on with a few clicks and the final slices of french toast are prepared and served. Syrup, butter, and even extra cinnamon is placed on the table to properly plate the toast. 

Tommy watches as his portion is set before him with vacant eyes, still trying in vain to find the right words to explain the man-creature-thing haunting him.

“Eat,” his foster father says. “Then we can talk.”

So they do, in moderate silence with only the quiet drone of Tech's music playlist thumping in the background. Any other day Tommy would be chatting it up, but the conversation they have to have is looming over his consciousness like a storm cloud.

When the final bites are eaten and plates are taken to the sink, the duo take to the living room. The couch is much comfier and better suited for whatever is muddling Tommy's mind than the rigid kitchen chairs.

Tommy lays sideways with his crutches against the arm and his legs thrown over the cushions as Tech takes the recliner to the right. The man grabs a book and glasses and waits patiently for the younger to speak when the words find him.

They sat for what must've been a half hour, maybe more, before pale lips parted and a trembling name slipped from Tommy's mouth. Tech looks up from his book with those ridiculously silly reading glasses of his perch upon his nose and a bit of that hesitance disappears– there's no way a man with an emerald and polar bear charm hanging from granny glasses could ridicule him the way Clay would.

“There's this–” he stops to swallow what feels like a rock in his throat, tongue suddenly dry as a desert in his mouth. “This thing, following me around.”

Tech's eyebrows raise up into his hairline as his mouth drops open. “Following you around?” He echoes in shock.

Tommy nods, suddenly checking his peripheral as if the thing would be there the moment he mentioned it. “Yeah, it's watching me all the time with this freaky smile on it's face– like it, it knows something. I don't know. It's in my dreams and at first that's only where I'd see it,but then I woke up one morning and I swear it was standing in the corner of my room!”

“And it's been coming closer and closer. It nearly touched my shoulder last time I saw it and I don't know what'll happen when it does!” Tommy's eyes were wet with tears as his fingers bunched the blanket over his lap in his fists. “I'm not a fuckin’ baby but– but.”

“But?” 

“I'm scared.” He whispers as if it's a secret, blue eyes clenched tight as the kid's nose scrunches up. 

Tech sighs, closing the book with a snap and taking off his glasses. “Look, kid. Being scared is normal. Everyone gets scared sometimes.”

“Even you…?” 

It's said meekly from behind the red blanket pushed up past the younger's nose. 

Tech's lips quirk with a smile. “Yes, even me.”

That night is spent in Tommy's room, Tech having dragged a chair from the kitchen to the kid's bedside. Anytime his chest felt too tight or he woke with air caught in his throat, a calloused hand was ready to bring Tommy back down the earth. He slept the best he had in days, thanks to the steady weight of a hand upon his own and watchful eyes there to defend him.

It takes a day for the therapist to find time in her schedule to fit him in, though Tech says that’s unreasonably quick for a therapist. Apparently his special case gives him an on-demand psychiatrist. It's a video visit, something that won't be the norm but is made an exception of.

Tommy sits upon his bed, laptop open and logged into the tele-therapy app while Tech busies himself in the kitchen. He requested specifically to be left alone as the thought of having his foster father sit in on the call gives him chills (he knows Tech isn't Clay, but still). His tablet is open to his notes app so he can jot down anything he feels the need to, titling the note ‘Thera-Pouffey’ after his doctor's last name.

The video service finally connects after a few minutes and a kindly woman pops onto the screen. She smiles softly and waves to the camera, lips moving without speech. “Oh!” Tommy yells, pulling away to grab at the headphones across the mattress. “Hold on, I can't hear you.”

He slots them over his ears and fiddles with the bluetooth on the laptop til the connected tune chimes. “Can you hear me?” Tommy says.

“Yes! Hi Tommy, it's nice to meet you!”

Her voice is sweet but not soft, at least not in the gentle way he assumed all therapists spoke. Wild waves of curls were held up by a scrunchy with some accent pieces pulled away to frame her face, majority a wispy sort of tan except a crazy halo of rainbow underneath. “Hi, your hair is cool!”

She laughs and even that sounds unlike the stereotypical “melody” people in books describe it as. It sounds real and like the person on his screen isn't just a video.

“My name is Dr.Pouffey, but you can just call me Puffy.” She smiles while adjusting herself in her seat, scrolling her mouse about the screen. “I'll be your standard therapist for as long as you need me, while you also have a psychologist you'll talk to soon. I'm also a part of your court case, so I'll be taking notes while we talk to better know you but also to bring up in court if it benefits you.”

Tommy grabs the blanket across his lap to twist between his fingers. “You'll note everything? What if I don't want you to write something down?”

Dr.Pouffey looks away from the monitor screen to look at him, going as far to take her hands off the keyboard to show all attention is on Tommy. “Unless I feel it'll help get your father convicted, I won't write down anything you don't want me to. I will be completely honest throughout this whole situation so you understand what's happening. Would it make you feel better if I asked to write stuff down?”

Tommy pauses to really take in the words and think about the compromise. The thought that Dr.Pouffey could be writing down anything about Tommy is terrifying, but he's also understanding that he doesn't want to ever see his dad again. “That sound's okay. I can handle that.”

Dr.Pouffey smiles softly and folders her hands over each other in her lap. “While I wish our first session was in person, I know your foster father mentioned a bit of an emergency situation here. Do you want to tell me what you think is wrong?”

It's easy to let the truth spill from his lips, telling Dr.Pouffey all about what he's been seeing and everything that makes him scared about it. He even tells her about the name he's given it; The Smiler. How it lurks in the corners and looms closer and closer everyday, eventually getting nearly close enough to wrap its nasty claws around him.

When he's done recounting his phantom, Puffy's lips are pursed and a thoughtful look enters her eyes. “So, this thing– this Smiler, as you call it –is constantly on your mind and seems to always be watching. Are there any times in your day when you don't feel like it is?”

Tommy thinks and thinks hard, really trying to find any time in his daily schedule where it isn't there. “Well, it only recently started to appear around Tech. Normally I feel fine as long as he's close, so I'd wake up and head to the kitchen to wait for him.”

“Do you think it's because he's another real person there or is it replacing the feeling of needing to be watched?”

“What do you mean?” He finds fingers between his teeth, tugging on the hangnails and loose flesh in an anxious move. 

“Well, I know your father, Clay, used to use a bunch of cameras to watch you a lot. Did that ever feel comforting or something you'd look to for validation?”

“Yeah, duh. I would look to try and find the little red light to make sure Clay was still watching me while I did stuff. It was nice because he was there and paying attention to me in a way he couldn't with work!”

Puffy hums, looking away from her camera to move toward the screen. “Are you alright if I write some stuff about your nightmares? I believe it pertains.”

“Why would you have to write any of this down? It's not like Dad has anything to do with this.”

“It's something to note as a side effect of your household change, and I will be able to forward it to your doctors and psychologists so they can get a better handle on what is happening. Especially if night terrors and visual hallucinations are disrupting your life.”

Tommy scrunched his eyebrows, really contemplating it. He doesn't really want anyone to know about what's been happening, but it's also not a bad idea to have it written in his chart– at least he doesn't think it is. “Go ahead.” He decides with a nod.

Puffy smiles as if he's just given her a gift, rather than permission to spill his secrets. It still feels nice to have his consent acknowledged. “Alright, I'll be jotting down that you've been having nightmares and hallucinations, insomnia disrupting sleep, and exactly what you've been seeing.”

“It's nearly time to end the session, however. The next time I see you will be the real session zero, where I get to know you personally and more about your interests and the like!” Puffy's keyboard signals the final text with a satisfying tap to the enter key. “If you don't mind, I'll be having a conversation with Tech about what steps to take from here as well as when I can see you next.”

Tommy smiles at the screen, not quite understanding how this whole “talking about your feelings” thing is going to help him just yet. He doesn't exactly feel better about the thing but oh well. “Thank you, Dr.Pouffey.” Signing off like the respectable kid he was raised to be.

The laptop closes out with a chime. Tommy half launches the headset from his ears and slides the laptop away, face contorted in a scowl. 

Dr.Pouffey seems nice and honest, but he feels dissected and sort of undermined. He knows she's going to want to bring up medication– the psychologist was directly mentioned with the intention of curing his- his issues by pumping him full of meds.

Tommy slides off the bed and shoves a crutch under his shoulder, hobbling out toward the kitchen in the most grumpy way one can while unable to stomp. As he passes under the archway, Tech turns to greet him, only for his face to fall at the look on Tommy's face. “What's the mopin’ for, kid?”

He shoves himself down in the chair, crossing his arms and tucking his head down between his shoulders. “They're just gonna ignore me and shove me full of fuckin’ meds to get me ‘better’.” Tommy quotes the last word. “It's not fair.”

“I take medication.”

Wha-huh?

Tommy's thoughts skid to a halt, head popping up from his bundled arms. “You take meds? But you're so– so strong! You're cleared to foster too, so there's no way they let you take psych meds while doing that!”

With a smirk, Tech leaves the kitchen for a minute and returns with an orange pill bottle full of little white tablets. The label reads ‘Lorazepam’ with directions to take one per day with a meal. The kicker is Tech Blayde typed out right front and center. “What do you have to take meds for?” Tommy snarks in disbelief.

“Well, these help my anxiety and sleep. I suffer from social-aggressive anxiety and insomnia, so I take these every night during dinner to help manage it.” Tech picks them up and mutters something about needing a refill, shaking the near-empty bottle.

“Oh.”

Tech gave him a half-hearted smile, about to pick up the spoon and continue dinner prep when his phone suddenly rang. “I gotta take this kiddo. I'll finish dinner then we can talk more about my meds while eating, if you want?”

His foster parent didn't give him much time to respond, but a whispered agreement still slips past his lips. The bottle is left abandoned on the table and looms much bigger than its size, it seems.

Tech steps out of the room and ducks into his own bedroom when he sees the caller ID; Tommy's Therapy. Undescript, but Tech knows a client-therapist relationship can be fickle at first and doesn't want to jump the gun by having the lady's name in quite yet.

“Hello?” He says upon tapping ‘Call’.

“Hi! This is Dr.Pouffey, I was wondering if I could speak to Tech Blayde?” 

“This is he.”

“Great! First off, thank you for agreeing to take care of Tommy and giving me the brief fill-in on what's going on.” He hums into the receiver in acknowledgement. “Now, I wanted to discuss what Tommy and I spoke about in this session. I have full permission from him to disclose this to you.”

“Alright, what's going on?”

“Well, it seems to be stemming from a lack of monitoring. He's used to constantly having something or someone watching him, so this Smiler is a manifestation of the change in routine.” Dr.Pouffey seems to pause to let that thought settle before continuing in a bit of a graver tone. “He's only ever ‘safe’ when being watched by you, as his mind subconsciously, and rather obviously, recognizes you as a replacement for this treatment.”

“I-” Tech starts only to stop when a lack of words come to him.

“You're understandably upset, as am I. It's something that will be brought up in court to further prove the mental abuse Tommy had been subjected to under Mr.Taeken's watch.”

“Where do we go from here? It's great and all that it's more evidence, but how do I help the kid now?” A piece of his hair finds its way between his fingers, twisted and rolled around to relieve the antsiness growing in his veins.

“I'll be talking to his psychologist about the next steps in terms of treatment, but the best advice I have for you now is to just listen to him. If he wants you there, be there. If Tommy is asking for some sort of comfort, give it to him. I have no doubt you're already doing amazing but these first few weeks are crucial for someone who's gone through something like Tommy has.”

“Understood.”

“Thank you for talking to me. Now for the next appointment, how does three days from now sound?” 

The calendar is packed more than Tech has ever seen it, with all of Tommy's court mandates, physical therapy treatments, and doctor's visits. Thankfully, there's a little spot right in between a doctor's visit and a planned outing that works perfectly. “Alright! I've got you penciled in for that date. If anything changes, don't hesitate to call. Until then, take care of yourselves.”

“Will do, thank you.”

The call ends with a beep that sounds much louder than the simple chime it was. Tech stares down at his phone blankly before sighing and dialing the number for his own psychologist. “Damn mental health.”

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Tommy sat on the couch in the livingroom, leg curled under his thigh and his tablet open upon his lap. His notes app on Tech and the house has been updated and rewritten dozens of times over by now. A mixture of getting to know the man and home as well as Tommy physically working out his convoluted feelings. 

Coming upon October means it's officially been about five months since his father was taken into custody, five months since being introduced to Tech. He was lucky shit hit the fan about summer time and not earlier, having only missed out on a month of school in the past year.

Five months and still no confirmation on his placement. By all accounts, Tommy should be carted off to his next home. Somewhere more permanent, seeing as how Tech was only meant to be an emergency, temporary placement. And yet, the idea of confronting that issue and potentially being sent away was nauseating.

The more Tommy thought about it, the more he realized he really liked where he was at. Not only was the house perfect for his physical disabilities and far enough away from public to feel secluded, but his foster dad was everything he could ever want in a guardian; stern yet soft while remaining truthful and to the point, always willing to further explain things til Tommy gets it while not dumbing anything down. So many people treated him like a baby, and not only due to him being twelve, but also for the things he went through.

Tech was never like that, not even by accident. He spoke to Tommy like an equal, something he so desperately wanted but never got. Constantly feeling infantilized since a young age and forced to act like a dumb baby.

And with those realizations, Tommy knew he wanted to stay. A more permanent agreement for housing. But would Tech even want that? He signed up specifically to be an emergency placement. Would Tommy not be taking away another kid's chance at a happy home by requesting to stay?

Instead of stewing in these thoughts, he wrote down the key details. Tommy made a separate page in his notes app and began to list the pros and cons of staying at the house. Things like respect and boundaries high on the list, followed by the cool house, just as cool foster parent, and the trust already instilled in him. 

A cons list was made after a dozen or so more bullets, but nothing really came to him. Tommy stared at the blank page for minutes, skimming over the pros while trying to craft even a single negative but only jotting down more good things. Eventually the only word he could write was ‘over-whelming’ but even that seemed more a byproduct of his situation than with the placement.

He was still searching for one solid evidence of anything bad when Tech finally came home. He had been out on a shopping trip, something Tommy is still scarcely up to doing. A few totes were lining the man's arms as he hefted them through the door, as he was a ‘one-trip' kinda man. Tommy followed the man to the kitchen with his crutch. Tech dropped the bags onto the counter and it barely took a second before they were quickly rifled through by a pair of thieving hands. 

“Hey!” Tech swat at the boy’s hands playfully, mirth in his smile. “Leave them be. I’ll be starting dinner as soon as they are tucked away.”

“But I’m hungry now! I’ll call social services and say you’re starving your placement. Then what, huh?”

“Then,” Tech smirks while putting a package of butter into the fridge. “You’ll be out of home and I’ll be found not guilty, allowed to take on another lonesome little stray.”

The conversation was starting to teeter onto something very real, and Tommy felt tension beginning to brew. He couldn’t just take being compared to a dog though– regardless of how great the animals were. “You’re just a lonely old man who has too much money! The only reason I’m here is because you had nothing better to do.”

Something real bled into his words and while Tommy didn’t agree with the sentiment, his own phrasing made him stop. There was something to be said about how a single, adult man managed to not only be approved for foster work but also emergency placements. And that, at the end of the day, Tommy will be taken into the custody of some other family in a few weeks time.

Instead of continuing the conversation, Tommy averted his eyes toward the gathering of dinner’s ingredients on the counter. “I’m going to go lay down.”

Tech didn’t bring up what was said rather chewed on his lips for a few seconds before sighing. “Alright, I’ll let you know when dinner is ready.”

Tommy sunk into his comfortable mattress, gazing upon his nightstand with blurred eyes. He didn’t wanna leave. He liked it here, liked Tech in a way that made his heart ache for what could be, but didn’t want to push a boundary silently set. 

Instead, Tommy grabbed his tablet from his side and pulled up the notepad for ‘Therapy Talk’ and wrote down ‘Foster Placements - how to ask to stay’. Something to remind him to bring it up next session, though he doesn’t think that the idea will leave him for weeks.

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Weeks have passed quickly. Everyday feels like it brings something new as court days pass, therapy and psychological visits slip through his fingers, and finally online school picks back up. It's almost overwhelming just how much is asked of him, even just when in therapy. .

Today was therapy and while Tommy had been doing in-person visits on his own for awhile now, Puffy asked if Tech could sit in on a visit too. His nerves were through the roof at the prospect, but whatever Puffy thought apparently needed to be said to Tech, with Tommy there and he hated being left out. He had a sneaking suspicion that he knew exactly what she was going to ask and even with her having his permission, Tommy isn’t sure he’s ready for that conversation yet.

They pull up to the clinic in Tech's old station wagon– something he refuses to update under the guise of “if it's not broke, why fix it” like the old man he is. It's a quaint little building holding a few different agencies, including his therapist and psychologist. 

The chime at the door announces their arrival, the nice lady at the front desk checking them in with a tired smile. “Need anything to drink? Maybe a snack?”

“No thank you.” The duo reply, waving her off as respectful as they can.

It's only a few minutes before Puffy turns the corner and smiles at them both. “Hey! C'mon, I've got the room all ready for you two.”

She leads them back in what's got to be the most awkward walk Tommy's ever had the displeasure of partaking in. Tech is as stiff as a board when he sits down and Tommy is much the same, spine straight and body poised at the end of the cushioned couch. 

Puffy sits down in her own chair that's purposefully moved away to angle toward the two. Her computer is left on a screensaver of bubbles that Tommy often finds himself focusing on instead of her face. “Well!” Puffy starts, smiling with her hands clasped together across her propped knee. “Thank you both for meeting me here. I wanted to do a foster-family check up as well as bring up a few feelings Tommy wanted me to mention to you, Tech.”

The mentioned man shoots the boy a curious look from his peripheral, clearing his throat. “Yeah, it's not a problem. We've been doin' alright, I think? Tommy?”

He makes a slight noise of surprise at being addressed, still not used to talking when his caretaker is around. “Uh! Yeah, it's been good. Haven't been seeing the thing as often, taking the meds I was given. Feelin– feeling pretty great!” Tommy forces a positive inflection to the last words.

Because it has been going great. Tech is super nice and knows just how to handle Tommy and all of the mess he comes with, as well as takes the time to reassure him that he's not a bother for it. But that's the problem; it's going too well.

He doesn't want to leave.

Tommy knows this placement is temporary until they can figure out what'll happen to him with the whole Clay situation. And as soon as it's decided whether or not he goes back– except the thought of returning to his father's arms gives him hives, metaphorically and physically from the way he practically claws at his skin the way the idea itches him – Tommy will have to leave. 

He knows it, okay? Knows that this peace and contentment is painfully brief and the chaotics that fill his normal, mundane life with his father will be back in full swing. Or Tommy will be toted off to a more permanent location, seeing as how Tech is only meant to be an emergency placement. But he doesn't want that. 

Puffy specifically brought in his foster parent to discuss this, as it has been a recurring segment in the last few sessions. His therapist would listen to him bemoan the thought of leaving with a playful smile as if she knew something he didn't. 

So, as they sit there, Tommy feels his therapist's eyes bore into the side of his head. Not maliciously, but more in an urging way. And, when that doesn't seem to work, Puffy finally decides to just address the elephant in the room; “So, Tech, I know you're an emergency foster with the goal of being a temporary safe space, yes?”

“Uh, yeah, that's my ultimate goal in becoming a caretaker with foster facilities. I had a foster sister growing up and seeing what she was put through gave me the passion to be the same guidance for kids the way my dad was for her.”

Puffy nods with a smile pulling wide at her lips while Tommy feels his heart plummet at the confirmation of his fear. “That's amazing! I'm sure your sister is happy to see what you're doing for people like her.”

“Oh yeah, Niki has been pretty excited to hear about my fosters. She wants to meet them herself, but Tommy is only my second and my placements tend to be on the more, uh– delicate, side of things.” Tech reaches to the side to twirl a piece of his hair from behind his ear. 

There's a glow about his face when he talks of his family, something like pride and even a bit of a bashful blush upon his cheeks. It's an unusual look for the normally put-together man and Tommy can't help but to feel jealous at the thought that it's not him Tech is talking about. He stamps it down as quick as he can.

“Understandably. Now, I know you're pretty set in only fostering emergency placements, marking you a rarity in the community, so I've got to ask; would you ever foster to eventually adopt? Or rather take on an emergency foster as a more permanent caretaker.”

“I, well, maybe? It's crossed my mind a few times but I'd never want to purpose that onto the child, especially not one that may go back with their birth family or even seek out a more nuclear parent situation.”

There's a flicker of hope that rests in Tommy's heart for the remainder of the session, feeding on the words Tech said. He has to fight down the smile pulling at his lips every time he and Puffy lock eyes. Her smile is knowing and this time Tommy understands why.

.

.

.

The door shuts quietly behind them, Tommy already kicking off his shoe and limping into the living room. His leg hurts like hell, the phantom sense of the limb throbbing to every pulse of his heart. He clenches his teeth as he leans back upon the cushions.

Tech clicks the lock in place before joining the kid on the couch, both lounging out in a silent concoction of their own mental torment. 

They just got back from the last physical court hearing.

Lips are barred from speech after the toll such an intense day took on them. Limbs heavy and heads even more so. Tech digs out his phone from his pocket and searches in hopes of finding an easy, appealing dinner to have delivered; cooking not remotely on the menu for today.

Tommy struggles to get his leg free from his prosthetic, hours of wearing it bringing a bone-deep ache. It's removed with a wince then the socks are peeled off and set to the side as the throbbing of the limb reaches a crescendo. He sighs deep in his chest at the relief while closing his eyes and leaning his head back.

The phone is passed over with a grunt, screen open to some pizza place. Tommy takes it and punches in his usual order, making sure to toss in a two liter coke when he sees none is yet in the cart. The order is placed and they both get up to do their respectful decompressing habits until dinner arrives.

Tommy stumbles into his room and absolutely collapses onto his bedsheets. They're tossed about from last night's painful attempt to sleep. As he lays there, the pent up emotions from everything rise to the surface and suddenly tears well up and spill down his cheeks. His heart aches something fierce and the picture of his father, trying as he may to forget it, sitting still in the courtroom conjures into the front of his mind. Having been the first time in nearly two months Tommy had seen him, he couldn't help but to think back on the changes Clay had undergone; stubble growing along his chin, a gaunt nature to his cheeks, and yet the ever present cunning smile still graced his face like the thought of his own son putting him behind bars was merely an afterthought.

And what a thought that was. An awful one that made anxiety and hate burst from his chest in horrific sobs. There's relief in the emotions finally leaving, but Tommy's heart feels torn in two from the polarizing responses his brain sparks to the idea. 

To have his father locked away, or at the very least lose parental rights to him, would give way to the conversation of a more permanent stay with Tech. But to never come in contact with his dad again is a misery he never thought he'd experience. The case, and Tech, have opened his eyes to the life he had been living being deplorable at best and abusive at worst, but he still idolizes the man who raised him– loved him.

It's through these pitiful, heart wrenching sobs that Tech is summoned. Large hands brace his shoulder and cup his face, pulling Tommy back from where he squished himself in the sheets. “Hey, hey,” Tech's voice is quiet, meek in front of the boy who feels so strongly. “It's alright, it'll be okay.” There's nothing better to say.

He pulls Tommy into his arms, tucking the kid close to his chest and right under his chin. Thin hands just starting to gain healthy weight grip the back of his shirt as tears wet the front. Tech can feel the spaces missing in the boy's hands where fingers should be and feels a spark of anger light in his chest, not for the first time today.

The day spent in the court house was not so much gruelling (it was, it absolutely was) as much as it was eye opening. In the way Tech's eyes were left staring wide at the screens and the doctors and the jury. Staring wide at the weak little boy entrusted to his care, saddled in a booth much too big for him and swamped in a suit much the same. Left to stare as endless and painful proclamations of horrific abuse were listed off, all the while the perpetrator sat smiling in what mise well have been a gilded throne; crafted from his own hands and stood upon the broken promises to a little boy.

The boy now held delicately in the ways he never should've been starved of.

Tech had never been so sure that Tommy would never be going back to his father as he was after they stepped foot from that room. The claims were near-irrefutable with surmounting evidence to justify every word from the victim. Pictures and pages and lies all amounting to nothing but a broken man feeding off the pain of his son, who he maimed all for attention.

It was deplorable and made the flames of Tech's anger burn all that brighter. However, he staved the fire and forced himself to check back into the problem at hand.

Tommy was exhausted. Mentally, physically, and most definitely emotionally. Tech could see it in his body but absolutely in his eyes and the bags sagging heavy under them. In a moment of impulse, Tech dragged his thumb over the bruising. Tommy's hiccuping sobs petered out til all he was left with was a heavy feeling in his heart and tear-stained cheeks. “You're alright, I've got you.” Tech muttered, once again allowing himself to succumb to the need to comfort the kid and pressed his lips to the top of Tommy's head.

Affection the boy wasn't used to receiving, suddenly cut short by a heavy set of knocks to the front door. Tech turned away from the boy, pulling back with a flinch at the sound. “Oh–” he laughed humorlessly. “It's probably just the pizza. How about you get out of these stuffy clothes and meet me on the couch?”

“Mhm.” Tommy hummed, still not yet up for full words quite yet.

After changing from the suit and into a more lounge-appropriate outfit, Tommy shyly limped his way to the living space– using the walls and the purposefully-placed furniture to make it there without his crutch. The tv was already queued up to his favorite movie while the food lay hot and ready upon the coffee table. Tech sent him a small smile, patting the cushion next to him.

Tommy sat down, taking the blanket to drag over his lap and the designated personal pizza with a small quirk of his lips. He pressed his fingers to his bottom lip and fanned forward, expressing his ‘thanks' in the sign Tech had recently taught him. “You're welcome. Now eat up, I've got some good news afterward.”

The thought of some good news, especially after the shit day they had, was like a sliver of the sun shining through parted storm clouds. Tommy ate with fervor, slugging down his glass of coke and three slices of pizza before his stomach cried with fullness. He pushes the remaining slices, and the box, back onto the table to lean backwards. His stomach was distended just a bit from the carbonation and admittedly awful food.

Still, he wasted no time turning to Tech and preparing for the news. The man was still munching away at his own plate of meat-lovers pizza, content to take his time if the playful smirk on his face said anything. “Tech No Blayde!” Tommy drew out the name, finally breaking his mental vow of silence.

A true smile and a roll of the eyes was all he got before Tech swallowed his bite and closed the box. “Alright, alright! Impatient much?”

“You said you had good news! So spill!”

A hearty laugh was given for his enthusiasm. “Well, two good things.” He pauses to move himself into a casual– forced casual lean against the couch arm.

“One, I suppose it depends on how you respond but I'm hoping for the best here.” Tech pauses to take a deep breath, trying to release the nerves building in his chest. “I spoke to your service worker and the fostering staff. I was hoping to take you on as an extended foster, maybe even a more permanent resident– oof!”

A head of blonde curls barrelled into his chest for the second time that night, weak noodle arms wrapping around his neck as a bony cheek pushed against his shoulder. “Yes! Yes, yes, oh my god, yes!” Tommy chanted, waterline wet with tears of joy this time.

The hands previously shaking in the air around the boy were wound tightly over Tommy's shoulders and into his head, cupping the back of his head and pushing it into Tech's shoulder more. The man tucked his head down to press his nose against the side of the kid's head, a smile hurting his cheeks with how wide it became. “Yeah? You like that idea?”

Tommy pulls back with a flourish, his own cheeks straining from his grin. “I do! I was so scared you– you wouldn't want me around, it's why I had Puffy ask you in therapy–”

“That's what that session was about?” Tommy nods a dozen times, his hair bouncing. “If I'd known you wanted to stay with me, I'd have asked so much sooner.”

“But– what about Clay? What happens if he wins and I get taken away again?”

Tech's hand moved to cup his cheek again, thumb brushing away the tears once again spilling down his face slowly. “After what the judge saw today, there is not a doubt in my body he will never see you again.”

Instead of the conflicting emotions Tommy thought would come from that confirmation, all he felt was joy. He was not only, hopefully, a free kid but he was also being served the best possible home he could have on a silver platter. “Thank you.” He said, falling forward onto his foster parent's chest and curling his fingers into the loose t-shirt Tech wore.

Fingers much bigger than his own pet down the back of his head and caressed across his shoulders, holding him close in a way that made his skin buzz pleasantly– unfamiliar but soothing. “Never thank me for this.”

“Didn't you say two surprises…?”

.

.

.

The clinic was massive! Nearly as big as the courtroom with plenty of space and branching rooms. A few trainers were bustling about with their hands full of toys, treats, and packets of papers. Tommy gawked at it all, anxiety and excitement swimming in tandem in his chest. 

Tech led them both up to the front desk and muttered something about an appointment, having scheduled this visit a few weeks ago with Puffy's written request, getting his psychologist to do the same. Tommy's name was mentioned a few times but his attention was on all the sounds and sights in the room. It was a little overwhelming.

They were led away from the main room and toward a private suite, a window overlooking the main play room ahead. There were a few more trainers, caretakers, and so so many dogs.

Big dogs, small dogs, puppies, and different coat colors galore. Each new dog that came bounding past caught Tommy's attention and the sounds of excitement were hard to ignore.

Eventually, the door connecting to the play room opens, and in trots an adorable merle dog and it's trainer. “Hello! Tommy and Tech, correct?”

“Yeah, that's us.”

The trainer smiles kindly and closes the door behind them. The dog is kept in a perfect heel against the leash-holder's side but it's attention is caught by the newcomers in the room every few seconds. The trainer runs a hand down it's head and smiles. “This is Hetta, a border collie, and she will be your service dog soon.” 

The confirmation that this dog, this very being standing before him with a wagging tail and floppiest of ears, was going to be his brought tears to his eyes. “Can I say hi?” 

Instead of being told, the trainer leant down to unclasp the leash and pointed at Tommy's outstretched hand. “Sniff.”

Hetta cautiously wiggled forward with all the grace a pup still growing into its paws can have and hovered her nose over his hand for a better smell. Her fur was soft under his fingers as she pushed her face into his hands. Tommy cooed, eyes bright and shining with unshed tears. “Ohhh, hello you!” He whispered down to her.

Her heterochromatic blue and brown eyes looked up and into his as her tail wagged a mile a minute. Hetta's tongue flicked from her lips to lap over his wrist and palm, slobbering him up in kisses. Tommy giggled and wiped the saliva back onto her fur. “Ewww, silly girl!”

Tech leaned over to present his own hand but Hetta ignored the gesture to throw her own head right into his caresses. He laughed and pet over her ears. “She's amazing.”

“Isn't she? She's only about nine months old, but she's learning quickly! We estimate another few weeks and we will be able to start at-home training with you.” The trainer remarked, eyes locked on the dog but twinkling with pride. “She's got a good amount of the commands down and is currently working on DPT, deep pressure therapy, and being able to alert to your specific needs.”

“Awh, Hetta! You're so shmart aren't you, aren't you!” Tommy babbles to the dog, flopping her ears back and forth as he does.

“Her whole litter actually went on to do some sort of task training. Her parents were trained service and therapy dogs, so her temperament is absolutely perfect for you.”

Tech hummed, taken to petting her flank and scratching at the base of her tail occasionally. “With how close she is to finishing her in-building training, how often do you need us to come in?”

“Well, the next steps are to actually get you guys trained up. Having a service dog is a big responsibility, as they are seen as medical aid equipment and not just pets. You'll have to know her tasks, commands, and how to treat her, so we'd like you here at least once a week, though twice would be preferred.”

Calendar open and absolutely filled, Tech feels just a bit overwhelmed by just how much they have to do the next few weeks. There's another video court visit on Tuesday, therapy for Tommy Wednesday and a med refill too, Thursday is– oh? A cold, wet nose pressed against his hand disrupts his smile. A wet tongue follows the sensation, covering the back of his hand in slobber.

Tech pets over the dog's head with a smile. “Alright, we'll be here.”

The next few weeks come and go fast, schedules packed but slowly starting to ease into the normality that comes with their chaotic lives. Tommy's bond to Hetta grows with each visit until she eventually sees him as her own, taking to his side as if she'd always belonged there. The kid's also shaping up to be a fine dog handler himself with notes on behavior and maintenance taking precedence in Tommy's tablet. He's eager and throws himself head first into any of the training and research the staff give him. 

And, as the date grows nearer to the deciding call on the case, Hetta ends up sliding into her role perfectly. The outcome has Tommy in such an anxious mess that a lot of his destructive tendencies came back full force, even Smiler was back more frequently. He'd be chewing at his fingers, picking his skin, and lost in the daze of dissociation that Tech even called him out from online school for the next few weeks. It was excusable by the courts and mandated by Dr.Pouffey as well. 

Hetta was already helping loads with carrying that mental weight, making sure to distract Tommy from his picking habits and applying her newly perfected deep pressure therapy treatments. She was actually set to come home with them in the next week, as she’s still having some trouble alerting to some specific triggers.

They went home that day hopeful that Hetta would be coming with them soon. She had her own kennel set up in the corner of the living room, a plush dogbed next to Tommy's dresser, food and water bowls in the kitchen, and so many toys and treats all ready for her. Her favorite treat, a salmon-based jerky, and lots of her diet-approved kibble seeing as she's a food motivated dog.

Looking across all the preparation made the excitement in Tommy's chest ready to burst. And, when they went in for their final in-facility training day, everyone was bittersweet smiles and clapping hands. The trainer who worked with them most bid Hetta a goodbye with a sweet kiss between her ears, standing up and handing the leash to Tommy. Hetta fell into a perfect heel at his side. “Thank you,” Tommy whispered, petting over the dog's head in reverence. “for training both of us.”

The woman smiled softly, eyes a little shiny with tears. “It's always an honor to help train these animals and it'd become even more so helping to train you. I wish you all the best, Tommy, and I hope to never see Hetta again.”

It was said in jest, but also complete seriousness as the amount of dogs these trainers had seen return was heartbreaking. Tommy couldn't help the spike of possessiveness flaring in his heart at the thought of giving up his dog. “Never.” He swore, face twisted in a determined grin.

Both Tech and Tommy left that day with a third member of their party, pittering obediently alongside Tommy's leg – opposite the missing limb, to guide him like she was taught. 

The car ride home was exciting but nothing would beat opening their door and allowing the dog to finally explore the house as her home. Tommy gave the release call ‘Free' and off she went sniffing every possible surface.

Tommy sat down on the sofa and watched his– his!! –dog run about. She stuck her head in every possible cabinet and took a mouthful of water. Her toys were properly inspected and a cute little chicken squeaky-plush was selected. 

A chime played from Tech's phone, shocking him from his reverie. The generic phone ringtone blaring from its speakers, catching everyone's attention. Tech shot a quick look toward Tommy before picking it up and answering the call. “Hello?”

Some words were muttered through the speaker. “This is he.” Tech pulled away, covering the mic and whispering at Tommy. “It's your social worker.”

Ice doused him in a chill, body suddenly both numb and electrified. 

“Mhm, yeah. Alright, hold on please.”

Tech removed the phone from his ear and pressed the mute button. He turned toward the kid, who looked so much smaller than he was in that moment, and physically took a deep breath. Tommy felt himself naturally mimicking the movement of his foster parent's chest. “Okay. Before I continue that call, I need to know if you want to hear the outcome from her or–”

“You.” Tommy cut the man off, not even needing a moment of hesitation before knowing the answer.

“Okay, we can do that. I'll finish the call next to you and then end it. As soon as it's over, I'll tell you what's happening.”

Tommy nodded and swallowed past the lump in his throat. He subconsciously began to pick at the skin around his fingers, only realizing he was doing it when a cold nose bumped into his hands to stop him. A tongue wiped over his hand followed by Hetta hefting herself onto the couch to lay over his thighs. The weight was a grounding feeling that took him away from the anxiety fluttering in his chest. Tommy could still hear Tech and the social worker's mutters next to him, but the words flew in one ear and out the other as his fingers dug into his dog's fur.

The phone call ended and the device turned off. A moment of silence was had as Tech took his own deep breaths, Hetta's eyes flicking back and forth from her owner to Tech. 

“Your father was found guilty of the charges on child neglect and endangerment, forging medical documents, and fraud. His rights as a caretaker have been revoked and he will be getting a second degree felony with a sentencing of ten years in prison, must pay a fine of twenty five thousand dollars, and is revoked the rights to you, voting, and owning a gun.”

Tommy sat slack jawed, feeling as if his whole world is crumbling around him at the same time it is being built up. His foot shifts as he moves to tuck it under Hetta. His chest feels tight yet oh-so insanely light. As if the weight of the world was suddenly lifted from his shoulders. 

He doesn't know whether to laugh or cry and so his body concedes to both as tears burn paths down his cheeks but a smile pulls his jaw wide. A hysterical giggle erupts from his chest the same time a choked sob.

Hetta moves from her space over his legs to lick at his cheeks just as Tech moves closer to coddle them both under his arms. Tech hushes Tommy, not rudely but with hums and quiet shushing sounds. He's pulled to Tech's chest and forced to lay upon it. Hetta huffs and wiggles between them to make herself known too all the while still trying to lick the salty tears from Tommy's cheeks.

“You're safe, you're okay.” Tech mutters in his hair, reminiscent of weeks ago when they laid in the same way with fingers carding through his curly hair. “You're okay. I've got you.”

The days following were not easy. A severe mental regression started to tunnel into Tommy’s mind, often finding himself more aggressive or lack-luster. His room became the only safe haven, only allowing Hetta to join him inside and even then the clacking of her claws against the floor would irritate him– he couldn’t think past the grating sound. Never had he thought of snapping at her though as it wasn't her fault he couldn’t control his actions.

Tech was distant, not on purpose but the last time they talked Tommy screamed at him. He couldn’t even remember what he said, just that the anger in his heart was getting too big for his head and needed release. It felt euphoric to get it out, even if the guilt of shouting at the only person who cared for him was eating him alive. 

Hetta climbed up on the bed, her tail low and ears pinned back. She wiggled her way under his arm and nuzzled up next to his head. “Hey…” Tommy whispered, petting up her snout.

She closed her eyes with each pet. “I know I’ve not been the best to you.” 

Guilt was heavy on his bones, weighing him to the mattress. Stones piled upon his consciousness with each misduing he had caused. His father who had sacrificed so much to keep him alive and well, paying for all of those medical bills and meals he was selfishly taking. Yelling at the only man left in his corner that was replacing– no, not replacing, just taking over for his father where that man lacked. And mistreating the dog who wants nothing more than to do her job. Even Puffy had been victim to his ire, the silent treatment followed by doorway confessions of self-hatred.

Tears sprung to his eyes unbridled, spilling down his cheeks in gentle waves. “I’m– I’m sorry.”

Hetta whined softly, little dot eyebrows raising up. Her tongue darted out to drag across his hand. Tommy grabbed her to pull her closer while burying his face in the fur of her neck. It tickled his skin and brought a huff of a laugh out.

There’s a knock on the door before it creaks just barely open. Tommy pops an eye out from where he’s hiding to look over at the pensive face of his foster dad. “Hey kiddo.” Tech greets, sliding the door open wide enough to step a foot in. “How are you feeling?”

Tommy grunts something unintelligible, turning to tuck his head back into Hetta’s fur. The man at the door breathes air past his nose with a strained smile. “Can I come in?”

What can only be identified as a noncommittal sound was his answer, but it was more than Tech had gotten in days so he took it as an affirmative. He left the door open on his way to the bed, hesitating to sit down. When nothing was said and the kid laying on the sheets did nothing more than breathe, Tech took to carefully sit on the edge of the mattress. He leaned over and placed his hand over Tommy’s that was curled in Hetta’s fur. “What’s goin’ on?”

A groan answered him as Tommy peeled himself away from his hiding space. A glare, though not heated, was sent the man’s way. “Leave me alone please.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t do that. You haven’t left your bed in days and you need to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.” Tommy grumbled.

“Is that your stomach or your mind speaking to you?”

“Does it matter? I’m not hungry either way.”

Tech sighed but dropped it, knowing the meal being prepared would go uneaten. The kid’s appetite had taken as bad of a drop as his mental health recently and though it hurt to see, Tech wasn’t entirely sure what to do about it.

The option of 302-ing the kid was viable, as the amount of self harming behaviors exhibited would at least give the institution a reason to keep him under a forty eight hour hold, but the thought of betraying Tommy in such a way hurt him. Even contacting his dad, who had gone through a lot of the same behaviors with his brother Wilbur, didn’t have a lot of advice beyond being there for the kid. Puffy gave Tech some advice but none of it seemed to help, or fell short when applied.

With a sigh, Tech leaned over and brushed blonde curls away from Tommy’s face. A shaky exhale left the kid at the action, followed by a few tears leaking from the corner of his clenched-shut eyes. “I know you’re suffering, that everything is too much and you don’t feel okay, but you’re hurting yourself. At least come get something in your stomach. We can watch your favorite movie and relax on the couch after.”

Tommy thought this over, eventually succumbing to the ache in his stomach summoned from the mention of food. He pushed Hetta gently away who just responded with a huff and hopped off the bed. “Okay,” Tommy conceded, pushing himself up and holding his arms out. “Can you– carry me please.”

Tech smiled and pulled the lanky kid into his arms, guiding the kid’s leg around his waist while holding him by the thighs. “Alright, up you get.”

The couch was set up like a nest with all of the extra blankets and pillows in the house padding out the cushions. Tommy was set on the cushiest of it all, sinking into the plush surface. He brushed his hands across the blankets to pull the comfiest over his lap. Tech watched him situate himself before handing him the remote and taking off toward the kitchen to finish up dinner.

Moana queued up with the intro music playing, Hetta curled up at his feet, and bordered on all sides by comfort eased the mental weight just a tad. 

Beef stew with a side of bread was served on what mise well had been a silver platter, garnished with a bit of cheese and handed to him deliciously warm. “You don't have to eat it all,” he was told. “just as much as you can handle.” It was one of Tommy's favorite dishes Tech had ever made for him, quickly becoming a staple during bad days.

The bread absorbed the broth and melted delectably in his mouth, the stew warming him from the inside out with every bite. Something about the meal made tears bud along his eyelashes. Tommy never believed in love being an ingredient in food but he felt this was close as he could get to feeling that.

Stew devoured, movie reaching the climax, and surrounded by his biggest supporters, Tommy felt like this was the start of something much better. There was a large part of him that still missed his dad and knew he would for a long time, but the life he's started to live with Tech and Hetta seemed a lot brighter.

.

.

.

Tommy never thought he was going to be here, sat in a car on a mini road trip across the state to meet Tech's family. It just felt so surreal. Especially seeing as how he was only meant to be an emergency placement and normally those don't get the whole “meet your new family” shtick.

Hetta was in the back clasped in her doggy seatbelt, a few bags of luggage and necessities packed in the trunk, and a grocery bag of snacks and drinks between his legs. Snow was drifting down in fat clumps, sticking to the windshield and windows as they cruised down the highway. 

Anxiety was fluttering about his heart, his pulse jumping with every clench of fear. He's heard enough stories about Tech's family to know they are good people. It's really the idea of them not liking him that's terrifying, and Tommy's aired his concerns a few times now. It's always met with an understanding look and a promise that they'll love him– but how can Tech know for certain?

Hours pass with his thoughts, knowing they're lesser due to his medications but still insanely overwhelming. It's only when the GPS reads five minutes that a strange calm passes over him, as if the feelings were suddenly purged from his head. 

They pull into the driveway and Tommy's hit with a bout of dizziness, forcing him to lay his head back and take some deep breaths. Hetta is pulling at the lead with a bark, attempting to alert to the panic attack surely rising in his system. Tommy reaches a hand back to her, “Test?” He can feel her breaths puff across his hand before a cold, wet nose pressed insistently to his palm. 

“Good girl.” He praises. “I'll get you a treat later.” 

He's so distracted that Tommy doesn't realize he and his dog are alone until the backdoor suddenly opens. Tech unclips Hetta's leash and brings her around to the front of the vehicle where he then opens the passenger side and guides Hetta onto Tommy's lap. As Tech is slowly lowering the incline of the chair, he mutters, “Do you want me to wait for you or give you time to recuperate alone?”

Tommy's panic is getting worse to the point his voice is lost, panting breaths starting to tumble from his chest even with Hetta's weight upon him. Tech holds up a finger on each hand. “Right to stay, left to go.” Making sure to shake the options as he speaks them.

His own fingers are dislodged from gray fur to painstakingly grab and squeeze the right hand. Stay, he wants his dad to stay. The thought comes with a flare of fear, the sudden reality of how he sees his foster parent igniting the panic worse. 

It takes what feels like hours for his heart to stop racing. His hand never leaves Tech's, regardless, often accompanied by a steady beat squeezed into his bones. The tears fade and his breathing returns to a steady cadence.

“How you feelin’?” Tech whispers, leaning over to grab a tissue and wipe the tears from his reddened cheeks. 

“Okay.” Tommy whispers back, on all accounts feeling like a train ran him over.

It takes a few more minutes for Tommy to feel steady enough to leave the car. His body is rivaling an engine with how shaky he is.

Hetta's guiding harness in one hand and a backpack of art supplies in another, they make their way to the front door. Phil, thank god, lives in a more secluded area. His neighbors are a few miles away in either direction so no one bared witness to the meltdown– besides those inside the house, if the full length windows with parted curtains said anything.

Heat rises to his cheeks in embarrassment but Tommy shoves the feeling down. He's feeling somewhat alright after his panic attack, anxiety down to a normal level with his body too exhausted for fear. It felt kinda nice compared to the car ride.

Tech dropped his bag to the ground to deliver a few hefty knocks on the wooden door handle, one of those old-timey ones of a crow holding the handle. Tommy waited with baited breath as footsteps drew closer and closer. There was a clear excitement to the pitter-patter that had Tommy assuming it wasn't Phil answering the door.

And when it opened, he was proved correct as a head of brown curls threw himself over Tech. “Tech Nob Layde!” Lanky arms wrapped around the man's shoulder and squeezed tight.

“Hi Wil, good to see you.”

“‘Good to see you’, always so damn formal!” Wilbur pulled away with a grin, rolling his eyes.

Those eyes then moved to the blonde haired teen. “Oh! You must be Tommy, it's so nice to meet you!” Wilbur looked like he wanted to reach out and hug Tommy, but reeled himself in at the last second. “Alright, c'mon in, everyone's already here.”

He opened the doorway wider and ushered them in. Tech threw one of the bigger bags at his brother, who groaned when it hit him square in the chest. "At least be a courteous house guest and take one of our bags.” He said with a smirk.

Wilbur huffed but shouldered the bag anyway, muttering about its weight under his breath but leading them further into the room anyway.

The mudroom was small but filled to the brim with shoes galore. So many different styles and sizes that it put Tommy's solid three pairs to shame. He waited for Tech to take off his shoes before following in his steps, shucking them off and toeing them against the wall. 

Hetta, as good as she was at her job, was still just a dog and so took to sniffing absolutely everything she could get close enough to. Each shoe was inspected, the floor was combed over and, as they all migrated towards the living, even the air was tasted. 

The living room looked packed; a rugged, old couch with throw pillows and a blanket hung over the back, two separate bookshelves bracketing a large entertainment stand, and plenty of frames and photos hung upon the walls. It was easy to see even from a distance that the family liked a well-lived space. The couch held two people, now three with Wilbur thrown at the far end, with a woman sitting in the recliner, and an open space on a secondary recliner mirroring the other. Enough space for everyone to sit, all five members of the house.

All heads turned toward the duo, a shiver of fear prickling at his mind as all the eyes landed on him. Tech reached back without looking and offered his hand which Tommy took gratefully. “Hello, missed you all.”

“Tech!” The older woman stood from the couch to pull the long haired man into a hug, pressing a kiss against his temple. “Oh, we missed you so much! Your calls were not enough. I'm so glad you are staying for a visit.”

Tech pulled away with a small smile of his own, unoccupied hand cupping the woman's elbow. “Hi mom.”

The woman had dark, black hair with fair skin and a dusting of light freckles over her cheeks. Her smile gave her dimples and creases besides her eyes, something Tommy was immediately endeared to. When those eyes left Tech and a smile was given his way, he felt less apprehensive than minutes ago. 

“You must be Tommy, it's so nice to meet you!” The woman opened her arms but did not move to step closer, simply allowing him the ability to initiate touch. “Im a hugger, but I wont push.” 

“Ah– no thanks, it's nice to meet you though.”

Her arms moved to her sides but there wasn't a hint of dejection on her face, only happiness and understanding. “That's alright hun. I'm Kristen, Tech's mom,”

She turned to motion toward the man sitting on the couch. He could have been a spitting imagine of himself in forty some years with sandy blonde, straight hair, a dusty stubble, crisp blue eyes, and yet another kind smile. It was like this family was full of them. “This is my husband, Tech's father, Phil.”

Phil rose from his seat with a muffled groan, moving toward them to pull his son in for a hug. “Missed ya’ mate.” He pat his son on the back before pulling away and offering a hand to shake towards Tommy.

“It's great to finally put a face to your name. Tech hasn't stopped talking about you– all good things, I promise!” 

Tommy shook his hand, fearing for a second about the claminess of his palms. “You too, Tech talks a lot about you.”

“And this is my son Wilbur, Tech's brother.” Kristen motions toward the brunette, holding her hand out to bring the lanky man closer.

He slots against his mother's side with ease, a coy smile upon his lips. “We already met, but it's nice to meet you– again.”

Tommy smiled politely while feeling positively overwhelmed by it all. The court room was the last time he was around remotely as many people and they were never as close to him physically as this family was. He felt his lungs constrict before the guide harness in his hand was tugged. Tommy looked toward Tech, but the man was too busy talking to his family to notice, so Tommy allowed Hetta to tug him away.

Apparently she had found the kitchen with her nose and chose to take him there when his anxiety began to come back tenfold. She led him to a chair and sat down, waiting for him to sit himself before throwing her paws over his lap. “Thanks,” Tommy muttered, fishing for a treat from his bag and offering it to his dog. “What would I do without you?”

“Tommy?” A gentle voice called, not familiar to him from the group he's already met.

When he looks away from Hetta, he finds the last family member standing in the doorway. Her eyes are worried yet kind with a quaint smile on her lips. She holds an unopened bottle of water in her pretty manicured hands. “Hi, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. My family can be a lot sometimes.”

Tommy wasn't really sure if he was meant to agree and talk smack about his placement or if this was a test and he was supposed to defend them, so he chose the path of least resistance and remained quiet. The woman stepped further into the room to hand the bottle his way, stepping back quickly after glancing down at Hetta. “My name's Niki, I'm the foster kid they adopted years ago.”

“Tech told me about you.” Tommy spoke, uncapping the bottle to take a mouthful. “Said you were the reason he wanted to foster.”

Her cheeks flushed rosy with a bashful smile. “Uh, yeah, Tech's always had a bleeding heart like that. It didn't surprise me one bit when he said he wanted to foster. I'm proud of him though, and proud of you. I'm glad you found each other.”

Tommy couldn't quite wrap his head around anyone being proud of him for getting his father locked up, but didn't have it in himself to push. Instead he settled on smiling and petting over Hetta's ear. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem.” Niki smiled, eyes flicking back to Hetta. “Can I say hi?”

“Oh! Uh, yeah! Her name is Hetta, she's my service dog.”

Niki moved closer, bending down to the dog's height and sticking her hand closer to Hetta's nose. “Hello Hetta!” the dog leaned forward to sniff at Niki's hand, seeming to deem her a fine human as she pushed her big head out of Tommy's lap and into the outstretched palm for scratches. “Awh, you're such a good girl.” 

“If you don't mind me asking, what tasks is she trained for?”

Tommy brushed over the dog's flank, patting her rump a few times when her tail swatted him. “I don't mind; she's trained to alert for panic attacks and PTSD episodes. She can give deep pressure therapy and stop me from self-destructive habits like picking my skin or scratching my arms and thighs too.”

“A very good girl, huh Hetta?”

Tommy hummed confirmation, feeling his heart begin to settle down yet again. Another meltdown avoided, hopefully none more to cause him too much trouble.

Staying in the Layde house was a bit difficult. Tommy was so used to having his own space and peace that suddenly staying with five other people was very unorthodox for him. 

Mornings were normally reserved for quiet time at the table with a simple breakfast but now they became a feast for the whole family to enjoy. The kitchen was packed with everyone making different meals and drinks and just so much talking that Tommy resorted to sporting his headphones around his neck at all times.

He would normally curl up on the couch, take his prosthetic off, and work on his school work doesn't work anymore with the disruption of the whole family gathering there. Not that it really mattered with winter break from school, but there wasn't even any space to think on his own. 

Even the room he is staying in is shared with Tech and Hetta, not that she gets in the way at all, but sleeping on a twin sized bed in a cramped room is bringing back memories Tommy would have rather kept buried. His only saving grace is how nice everyone has been and how knowing Niki is on what he’s struggling in– maybe not in reference to similar experiences, but their feelings are very similar.

With Christmas fast approaching, they were all meant to take a “family outing" to the local mall to purchase last minute gifts for each other. The task was daunting in and of itself but hardly knowing the family he’s celebrating with while being directly told to expect gifts was terrifying. Tommy hadn’t ever been starved of celebrations, as they were always extravagant and used as a way for Clay to show off his crippled and sickly son, but he never had to shop for anyone but his father. And that was easy as the list of potential gifts were handed to him.

This was so different and though the money was yet again taken care of, Tommy only felt dread about the idea of having to select individualized gifts.

The day they were setting out, everyone was getting well prepared for the winter weather. Jackets were tossed over long sleeves and sweaters with scarves wrapped around necks. Tommy was bundled up like crazy with a pair of fingerless gloves and a beanie tossed over his hair, curls tucked underneath. 

Hetta was wearing her cute little service vest with little white feathers and “do not pet” patches all over it. Her lead was already wrapped loosely around his hand as they stood in front of the door. Wilbur stood beside him scrolling around on his phone while the rest of the family ran around. 

Tommy tapped his shoe and popped his lips, trying to get rid of the anxiety growing in his gut with nausea. “Hey,”

He jumped half way out his skin with a flinch. Wilbur looked just about as shocked as he did, eyes wide and thumb frozen mid-swipe. “Oh, hey, its okay. Sorry, didn't mean to scare you.”

Taking a breath, Tommy schooled his face into a scowl. “You didn' fuckin’ scare me.”

Wilbur huffed a laugh. “Pretty sure even Hetta would disagree.”

The dog's ears were fully perked at her name but her eyes remained on Tommy, a weird level of sternness there that only disappeared after she sneezed. Tommy rolled his eyes with a sigh. 

“Anyway– look what I found.”

Wilbur flashed the phone screen toward him. It took him a few minutes to even process what was happening on the screen before a laugh burst from his lips. A fucked up little dog was on the screen absolutely screaming it's bloody heart out. Something about the little shit on the screen was absolutely hilarious so early in the morning. 

The two stood side by side, Wilbur pulling the kid a little closer, and spent the next few minutes laughing their hearts out about the dumb dogs on the account. One looked eerily similar to Hetta to the point they both looked over the top of the phone at the dog and started up another round of giggles.

“What're you two up to?”

Tech walked up, a calm smile on his own face. He was bundled in his winter clothes with his wallet on a chain attached to his jeans, keys jingling with each step. Tommy's cheeks hurt when he looked up from smiling so much. “You've gotta see this dog, Tech, it's so stupid.”

The two became three as they all stood around Wilbur's phone to watch animal videos. It wasn't until the rest of the family walked up that the phone was tucked away, but it took even longer for Tommy to realize the anxiety choking him up was gone. A smaller, gentler smile pulled on his lips as he climbed into the back seat of Tech's car.

Sweat coated Tommy's skin in a hot sheen, breaths panting and bones absolutely vibrating out of his skin. The room was dark with only the moon's light reflecting on the snow lighting up the room. His chest ached with each breath. Tommy's hand reached up to grab and throw off his blanket, needing to feel the cold air against his skin after such a nightmare.

Phantom hands gripped at his skin and hair even when his own brushed them away, a rising sense of being watched pricking the hairs at the nape of his neck. With a sudden rush, he felt the need to run out of the room. Anything to get away from the sharp nails dragging over his arms. He adjusted his hold on his forearm crutch and snuck as carefully as he could around his sleeping dog and snoring foster dad, biting his lip when his crutch weighed a little too heavy on the floorboards. 

The hallway was much darker than the bedroom. Tommy felt shivers up his spine as eyes blinked at him from the upper corners in the shadows, shining red in his peripherals. Tommy closed his eyes and marched carefully down the hall with courage he didn’t possess. Having his eyes closed felt almost worse than leaving them open, but he couldn’t stand the thought of actually seeing something.

He felt the tile change under his sock into padded carpet and knew he successfully made it to the living room. The moon shined much brighter through the windows there, nearly enough to illuminate the whole space. Shadows still stretched long, but a peace was found in the way the moon’s light bathed him. 

Smacking his lips, Tommy felt the dryness of his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth. A cold cup of water suddenly sounded so nice, so he made way to the suspiciously bright kitchen. The overheat light was turned on and some very quiet sounds of movement were happening inside and, without the usual island table he was used too, Tommy couldn’t see inside of the kitchen so easily.

Hesitantly, Tommy limped his way into the room to peer around the corner. Warm, yellow light staved off the shadows of the night, lighting up the silhouette of Phil and Kristen moving near the stove. They were whispering and shushing each other, stifling giggles every so often. Something was placed on the heated burner to slow cook with a deliciously and vaguely familiar smell.

“Uh–” He spoke, words suddenly lost with the only intention of making his presence known. 

The couple jump, Kristen gasping while Phil’s eyes went all wide like they were both caught committing a horrific crime instead of– cooking? “Oh! Oh god, mate, you scared the fuck out of us.” Phil swears.

Kristen glares at him and slaps at his chest with the back of her hand. “Language, he’s only 12.”

“I know what fuck means.”

Phil snorts before slapping a hand over his mouth to cover the sound and his smile. Kristen sighs with a fond smile regardless. “What are you doing up this late?”

A bit of embarrassment flares to his cheeks when he mutters, “Nightmare– and thirsty.”

Both of their eyes softened with sympathy. Phil turns away from them to pull something from the cabinets and place it on the counter. Kristen's eyes crinkle with a smile. “Well, we were just making some homemade hot chocolate. Would you like a cup?”

There's a bit of shock from the offer but nods his head. “Yes please, I'd like some.”

“Great!” Kristen clasps her fingers together with a grin. “Go ahead and sit down. I'll get you a glass of water while we wait for the milk to warm – Phil, love, can you add more milk to the pot?”

“Way ahead of you.”

In minutes they each sat nursing a steaming mug. The scent tickles his nose in the best of ways, unwinding his tense shoulders and bringing back the exhaustion his nightmare had chased away.

Phil is sipping his mug with caution while Kristen's is halfway gone already. A bit ends up on the corner of her lip that Phil leans in to wipe away, following with a quick peck to her lips. 

Something about the casual intimacy makes Tommy feel itchy in a really uncomfortable way. To hide his expression, he pulls the mug to his face. He takes a large sip with his eyes closed, pulling away from his general discomfort to really take in the warmth on his tongue.

Tommy finished his mug first and deposited it in the sink. “Thank you, again. I'm– uh, going back to bed now.”

Phil nodded with his own sleepy expression. “You're welcome Tommy, have a good night.”

Christmas was amazing.

Where normally a camera is shoved in his face and his father is urging him to react as positively as possible– “Smile, Thomas. No! Brighter, bigger! Don't you want them to know you love it?” – none of that happened. 

Kristen had been the one to wake them all up with coffee, even allowing Tommy to have a small mug while ignoring Tech's devastated expression. It was sweetened to perfection and left a pleasant buzz in his chest that gave him enough energy to surpass the morning.

Everyone piled around the tree, presents covering just about every inch of the floor underneath it. A few of the gifts were labelled ‘From Santa’ in pretty cursive writing even though Tommy admitted he never really believed in jolly old Saint Nicholas. Even the stockings were stuffed to explode with candies and goodies, each sporting a large candy-filled candy cane.

Tommy's shoddy-wrapped gifts were front and center in that silly dinosaur themed paper he got to pick out; apparently all of the family members selected their own printed paper to wrap presents in. When everyone was as lively and awake as they could be at seven am, Kristen announced it was gift time. “Can I give mine first?” Tommy asked, nerves pricking at his skin.

When no one rejected it, Tommy shuffled forward to grab at the gifts. He called everyone's name and passed them along to their respective owners. Everyone was holding their gifts of various sizes as if they were made of glass, curiosity glimmering in their faces. “Please just open them, I'm too anxious to wait.”

It was as if Hetta understood him as she trotted over to plop down onto his lap. His hand immediately began to pet over her fur and twist the fibers together gently.

Each gift was opened in reverence with joy quickly following with every reveal. None of the gifts were anything Tommy thought of as really special, just knick-nacks he thought of them by.

Tech a little golden sword pendant, chain a thin cord with adjustable sizing to fit around his neck, on his wrist, or even detachable for if he'd prefer a glasses charm instead.

Wilbur a new, leather-bound notebook with his name personalized in golden lettering. Each page held lines and note keys while half way through the pages changes to blank music scores, something Tommy thought would come in handy for those late night music sessions he had been secretly privy too.

Niki got a notebook too but this one was specifically an artistic-style journal. The pages were softly lined and a slot for a pen on the inside. There were animals marking up the sides of the pages, running around and leaving paw prints along the edges.

Phil was given a simple mug. The outside was a pretty sage green color but the moment the owner took a sip, words reading ‘Fuck Off’ could be read along the bottom. 

Kristen was by far the hardest to shop for with a little bit of everything catching his attention. Eventually, he landed on a gorgeous silver necklace. Accent chains fell down at higher points before connecting just under this pretty little flower. Tommy didn't know what it meant until one of the shop's employees had explained it was a lavender and they meant calming and healing, adjectives Tommy would absolutely place upon Kristen already.

Everyone was just a bit mistified by it all, not having expected much from a foster kid visiting for two weeks. Each gift was meticulously thought after and individualized perfectly, all of the family quick to praise the youngest's efforts.

Tommy flushed red at the attention. He had given gifts before and was actually said to be pretty good – by his teachers and one-off friends, of course – but to hear it so earnestly was overwhelming. And he hadn't even opened his gifts yet.

By the end of the trip, the car was packed doubly what they came with and Tommy was left to cradle a massive arachnid plush against his chest. It was fluffy and resembled the little eight-legged creatures in his videogame, gifted lovingly to him from Phil; the only man ever, as Tommy rightfully declared upon finding it. 

A few new fidget toys were piled around the car and a chocolate truffle was tossed in his mouth every so often. Even Hetta was satisfied in the back seat while gnawing on her new pig's ear and an embroidered bandana donning her neck. Tech proudly showed off the golden sword in necklace form, a new pair of bougie fingerless gloves, and leaning over every so often to steal a truffle himself.

After a few hours on the road, Tech turned down the music. They ride in a few seconds of silence before Tech finally opens his mouth. “Thank you for coming, I hope you had a good time.”

“Thank y- Tech, I had a really good time! Your family is nice!”

“Even Phil?”

It was an odd question, but Tommy supposed his issues being centered around father’s made it a fair assumption. But nothing about Phil reminded Tommy of Clay, and he doesn’t know if them even sharing similar faces could’ve changed that– not that they did, other than the shared blonde hair. “Yeah! He’s really nice.”

Tech smiles at the confirmation. “Good, I’m glad. Cause they’re your family now too, kid.”

A family. A full set of grandparents, an uncle, and an aunt all for him. 

While he didn’t entirely know what he was missing out, as Clay was a very secluded man and the only people in Tommy’s life to consider “family” was his father’s work associates, Tommy is so beyond glad to have it now. He may have only spent a few weeks with the group, but he can see so many more holidays and celebrations being spent with them too. Wilbur egging on jokes, Niki’s quiet chaoticism, Phil and Kristen with their endless kindness, and Tech– the man who gave this all to him and more.

It hit the blonde quickly and felt much like a pleasant warmth growing in his heart. Tech, while having grown on him to the point calling him a ‘foster parent’ felt disjointed, hadn’t fit into the role of anything prior. A brother felt close but not quite to the level of care the man has given to Tommy. And while it may seem odd, Tommy thinks he finally knows what fits the older just perfectly;

“Yeah, I know. Thanks, Dad.”